


Ya’aburnee

by merlypops



Series: Beautiful Words - 5SOS Stories [4]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Car Accidents, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Sad, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlypops/pseuds/merlypops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Death had always seemed like a foreign concept to Michael Clifford.<br/>It all seemed a bit detached if Michael was being honest with himself. It didn’t really compute.<br/>It stopped feeling quite so detached when Michael was sixteen years old.'</p><p>
  <b>Michael learns the true meaning of grief.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ya’aburnee

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't as flowery and nice as the others in this series... And let's face it, they weren't all that happy anyway...  
> Uh... sorry I guess?  
> Enjoy! (Hopefully...)  
> P.S. I listened to "Wrapped Around Your Finger" while I wrote this on repeat.... *sobbing*

**ya’aburnee**

_A paradoxical term of endearment in Arabic. It literally means “you bury me.” It’s a declaration of hope to die before a loved one, because of the pain of living without them._

 

Death had always seemed like a foreign concept to Michael Clifford.

When he thought about it, he didn’t really _know_ many people who’d died.

He knew Calum’s nan had died when they were both little, that a boy in their science class had died after walking in front of a car when they were fourteen, that his Year 4 primary school teacher’s life had been cut unfairly short the year they left the school.

It all seemed a bit detached if Michael was being honest with himself. It didn’t really _compute_.

It stopped feeling quite so detached when Michael was sixteen years old.

Looking back now, he can see how _stupid_ it was, how fucking _reckless_ he and Calum had been. He would have said it served them right if he wasn’t still so bone-chillingly _terrified_ of what had happened, years later.

Because Michael can remember it like it was yesterday. Fuck it, Michael can remember it like it’s still happening _now_.

He remembers the way Calum stole some beers from the fridge and brought them round, and Michael remembers the way he downed one straight up, choked and made Calum laugh so much he tripped over. Michael remembers smiling so big and wide when he and Calum decided that maybe stealing Michael’s mum’s car and taking it for a drive would be a good idea.

Michael remembers the way everything was going so _well_ until a car coming from the other way didn’t stop at the lights. Michael remembers the bloodcurdling protesting screech of metal grating against metal, and the feeling of being tossed around in his seat as the seatbelt pinned him back. He remembers a tiny, slightly hysterical part of his mind thinking that it was absolutely _nothing_ like a rollercoaster as the salty taste of blood flooded his mouth.

He remembers when everything went still.

The car was on its side, bent around the metal barrier edging the highway, and Michael was slumped in the passenger seat, his head lolling, his left wrist bent at a weird angle. Michael remembers the white of the bone and the red of the blood, and he remembers gazing at it in detached, semi-conscious confusion until a pain in the back of his head made itself apparent and he groaned, soft and low in his sore throat.

Michael remembers hearing a small choking noise beside him and the panic that coursed through him so quickly that it felt like he was drowning.

Michael remembers gasping out a desperate: “ _Oh my god, Cal, I’m sorry_ ” even though it wasn’t _really_ their fault, and he remembers being too frightened to turn and look at Calum in the driver’s seat, even though the little voice inside him was screaming that he was a fucking _coward_ for behaving like this, that he was _pathetic_ for essentially making Calum suffer alone.

Michael started to turn to face him then and Calum choked up blood as he gasped: “ _Don’t. Close your eyes, Mikey_ ” and Michael remembers how the terror enveloped him and made everything seem a thousand times clearer. It was a bit like HD, he thought distractedly, as red-hot pain began to radiate through his broken arm like a scalding kiss.

Michael remembers ignoring Calum’s wishes and looking at him, and then fervently wishing that he hadn’t because he _knew_ if they both survived this then he was going to have nightmares about it for the rest of his life. (He wasn’t wrong.)

Michael remembers the way he couldn’t _bear_ to see Calum like that in front of him but, with a determination that surprised even Michael, he knew he was fucked if he was going to close his eyes now and pretend that everything was alright when Calum was bleeding out in front of him – literally fucking _dying_ – and Michael reached out with his good hand (or should that be ‘ _better_ ’ since it looked almost as bad as the other?) and, with a herculean effort, he grasped Calum’s hand, giving it the same comforting squeeze as he’d done on their first day of school when they were both afraid.

Michael remembers being afraid then.

Michael remembers whispering: “You’re not doing this alone, Cal-Pal” as the younger boy’s breathing became laboured, and Michael _knew_ Calum was fading fast, and he found himself wishing desperately, _blindly_ , that maybe he’d be the first to go instead.

Calum was more than a best friend or a brother or… or a fucking _soulmate_ – and Michael could _not_ survive seeing him die. _Wouldn’t_ survive it, in fact. He flat out refused.

Michael remembers being more afraid than he’d ever been in his life as Calum coughed once more and the blood dripped down his chin.

Everything had seemed greyer than Michael remembered, the upholstery of the car darkened with blood, the sun disappearing behind a cloud outside, the dull colours on the coat of a woman hovering anxiously nearby, her mobile phone pressed to her ear.

Michael remembers the way everything seemed to blur and how Calum’s hand had stilled in his… and Michael remembers thinking, with so much more solemnity than he ever had in his life: “This is death.”

Somehow, knowing what awaited them hadn’t made it any easier.

Michael remembers how it was like the sun sinking behind the horizon, painting the skies with bloody crimsons and bruised purples, as Calum took a shaky breath and stopped moving entirely.

Michael remembers how his hand became worryingly cool and limp, and he remembers how the silence abruptly seemed to end, like Michael had just taken earplugs out after listening to music, and suddenly he could hear sirens and tools used for cutting metal, and there were what seemed to be about a million voices shouting at each other and Michael might have had a panic attack then if his ribs hadn’t been jabbing so wetly into his lungs.

Michael remembers the way he coughed and how blood speckled the window beside him, and he remembers how Calum’s hand was cold and how Michael was frightened, because they’d only wanted to drive around for a bit.

He remembers the green of the traffic lights and he remembers them being extra careful because they’d had their drinks, and he remembers how unfair he thought it was that the other car hadn’t stopped. He knew it was petulant, knew it was fucking _ridiculous_ to feel that way, but if that selfish bastard had taken his Calum away, Michael would never forgive him.

“ _Cal_?” Michael remembers breathing. There had been no answer.

Michael remembers feeling a bit like he’d been standing in the middle of a frozen lake and discovering that the ice was too thin to hold his weight.

Up until then, he’d felt like maybe there was a chance he’d survive. He could have crawled or dragged himself along on his stomach, but the hope that had been burning inside him – as weak as rapidly-cooling cinders in a fireplace but still _there_ , damnit – had gone out now and the cracks were spreading across the ice like a spider web.

Michael remembers when the glass shattered beside him and the firemen and the ambulance crew that Michael hadn’t even realised were _there_ began to work, and Michael remembers the pain and the tears and the fucking _desperation_ that clawed inside him as Calum remained still beside him, slumped over with his head resting against the window.

Michael remembers the way Calum’s hand slipped out of his and Michael remembers that that was when he started screaming.

Michael remembers the fuel dripping onto the road and a fireman shouting something in a rough voice, and he remembers how the paramedics rushed Calum and Michael away, regardless of possibly worsening injuries, because the car had just become a fireball.

Michael remembers the way the fire licked into the evening sky, the smoke curling up into the night, serpentine and deadly, and the crackle of the fire destroying the wrecked car was all Michael could hear besides his ragged breathing and the terrifying fucking _silence_ of Calum.

Michael remembers wishing that death was still a foreign concept to him, and he remembers the bitter, terrified, frightened, helpless _tears_ that coursed down his torn, bleeding cheeks when he had realised that it _wasn’t_ a far-off concept anymore.

Because Michael can remember Calum dying in the road in front of him, despite the ambulance people working desperately over him as they tried to bring him back, and Michael remembers pulling away from the paramedic who was trying to take him to an ambulance and crumpling down onto the cracked tarmac of the road as he stared at his best friend in abject horror as his breath rattled in his chest.

Michael remembers seeing the ambulance man’s grim expression as he fought to save Calum’s life, and Michael remembers the way his own expression quickly gave way to just… _nothing_ … as he considered how empty his life would be without Calum.

Michael remembers reading a quote once that roughly detailed the fact that everyone who mourned was selfish because they only grieved that the person who had died was no longer there with _them_.

Michael remembers thinking vaguely that there was a lot of truth in that statement.

No one else had played stupid video games with him every hour of the day or persuaded him to do his homework in those ten minutes before the next lesson started. No one else had given Michael the last slice of pizza or cuddled him when he was feeling down, and _definitely_ no one else had ever told Michael they would love him always and that they were going to be together forever.

Calum had.

Michael remembers how his cheek hit the road as he collapsed and the way his eyes slid shut as an inhuman-sounding sob clawed its way out of his broken, battered chest.

Michael remembers how there was a sudden silence as the ambulance crew stopped moving, and then Michael remembers hearing the broken gasp that came from a few feet away, like broken glass scraping over concrete… or like too little _air_ being drawn into damaged lungs.

Michael remembers when Calum opened his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I... apologise profusely.  
> I got this idea stuck in my head and then it wouldn't leave. (But I promise to write a happier update soon! I promise!)  
> Please leave comments/kudos to let me know what you thought!  
> Also you could try listening to "Wrapped Around Your Finger" while you read because I am still bawling. *hysterical crying*  
> Thank you :)


End file.
